


a thin line between love and crime

by owilde



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Introspection, M/M, Old Married Couple, Romance, Slice of Life, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 03:04:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18730441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owilde/pseuds/owilde
Summary: Edward eyed the crossword before glancing sharply at Jonathan across the table. “Am I crazy—”“Clinically, yes.”“—or is this too simple of a question, do you think?”





	a thin line between love and crime

**Author's Note:**

> Found this lying around in my drafts and figured I'd edit it a little and finish it. I do enjoy writing their banter.
> 
> Title taken from Pet Shop Boy's "In The Night"

“Well, well.”

Edward glanced up from his crossword puzzle, his mouth pulling into a dismayed frown. He was tapping his pen against a folded newspaper in an impatient rhythm, sitting on a kitchen chair with one leg thrown over the other, leaning too far back. The grandfather clock was making a loud ticking sound in the quiet of the apartment, comforting in its consistency.

“Are you sure you don’t want to add a third ‘well’?” Edward sneered, looking back at the magazine. “Or would that be too cliché for you?”

Jonathan _tsked_ and draped himself on a chair at the other end of the table. Edward pointedly refused to look up again. A particular word was bothering him, the third one downwards. Not because it was difficult – rather, it appeared so simplistic there _had_ to be something more to it.

Edward had found old crossword magazines from the flea market the other day when he’d been looking for a new jacket. They’d been buried under ugly antique plates and cups, abandoned and forgotten. He’d gotten them practically for free, since it seemed people had no understanding for taste these days. All the better for him.

He tried to limit himself to solving three per day, to avoid running head first into a brick wall of pure boredom, but he wasn’t quite succeeding. It was his fifth crossword for the day, and it was only one in the afternoon.

“How are these rudimentary puzzles of any challenge to you?” Jonathan asked in a dull voice, not appearing genuinely curious. “I thought you were… how did you put it yesterday? Intellectually superior to most of the academic population?”

Edward sniffled. “I am,” he agreed. “These are purely for entertainment in lieu of other businesses – which, I might remind you, _you_ are responsible for postponing. I must find something to do while we wait for your experiments to finish.”

Jonathan inclined his head in understanding. He was drawing lazy circles on the pale wooden table, staring at the spot in the middle with a small frown. Edward had half the mind to tell him to be careful not to scratch the recently polished surface, but he didn’t voice these thoughts. As it were, they only ever seemed to encourage Jonathan.

Jonathan, Edward thought, looked the most appealing like this. When he was stripped of his armour and extravaganza, leaving a shell of dishevelled hair and ragged clothes; when he let himself do nothing but sit in silence and in the presence of Edward, unreserved and – to an extent – relaxed.

It was a privilege, Ed knew, to see this. Not many did.

“It should not take too much longer,” Jonathan told him, breaking the comfortable silence. “Finishing touches, some adjustments to the formula. A few days at most, I’d estimate. I do hope you’ve reserved enough crossword puzzles until then.”

Edward let out a hum. He eyed the crossword before glancing sharply at Jonathan across the table. “Am I crazy—”

“Clinically, yes.”

“—or is this too simple of a question, do you think?” Edward cleared his throat. “You can feel me but not see; I can stop wars or start them; I am everywhere, yet some people lack me.”

“Fear?” Jonathan suggested. Of course, he would. Edward rolled his eyes.

“I was thinking love,” he countered. He bit the end of his pen between his teeth, eyes trained on the magazine. “It’s a four-letter word, but I haven’t yet solved the ones around it, simple though they may be.” He paused. “I do think it’s love.”

“Have you ever started a war because of love?” Jonathan asked, not bearing in mind that Edward had never started a _war_ , period. “ _Fear_ is what drives men into action, Edward. Although I will admit that the two can intersect – one can start a war out of the fear of losing love, or something similar.”

“Can fear stop wars?” Edward pondered. “I suppose it can. Fear of loss or death. But then, so can love.”

Jonathan stood up; his back cracked softly. “Do you fear loss?” He asked quietly, stepping closer to Edward. “When we do our missions, is there ever a tiny thought in the back of your mind…” His fingers danced against Edward’s scalp, before disappearing. “A tiny thought that you might lose yourself?”

Edward set his magazine and pen down, turning his head to look at Jonathan. He reached out for Jonathan’s hands, wrapping his fingers around his wrist. Jonathan’s skin was as cold as it always was, and sickeningly pale, with his veins popping through like slithering snakes. “I don’t fear I’ll lose myself,” he replied slowly. “But you? Perhaps the thought occasionally crosses my mind.”

Jonathan huffed, smiling. “You’re a strange man. For someone with such an ego, I would assume that your own life was worth far more than mine. There’s no benefit to you for prioritising me.”

“Funny thing, love,” Edward mused. “Makes your brain act strange like that. You do know, Jonathan, that you are – and for the foreseeable future, will be – the only person alive to make me fear death for someone other than myself.”

“Yes.” Jonathan was looking down at their joined hands. “I do know that – but as for your reasons, that remains a mystery to me. And I hope that you know, as well, that you are…” He paused to search for words, licking his dry and cracked lips. “Special.”

“Special?” Edward asked, amused. “Why, Jonathan, you ought to become a poet.”

Jonathan looked at him with pursed lips and a slight glower. “Why must you make everything more difficult than it needs to be?”

Edward shrugged, a small smile blooming across his face. “My one flaw, I suppose.”

“ _One_ flaw?” Jonathan asked dryly.

“Clearly, there is nothing wrong with me intellectually or physically.”

Jonathan let out a small, wry laugh. He sighed, shaking his head. “Whatever will I do with you?” He asked, tangling his fingers in Edward’s hair. “You’re nothing but a menace, and yet I’m terribly fond of you. It hardly seems fair.”

“Nothing in life is fair, as you’re fond of saying,” Edward reminded him. He closed his eyes, leaning into the touch with a small, satisfied sigh. “Are you telling me it’s _not_ an absolute delight to be my partner? I’m wounded, Jonathan. Wounded, I tell you.”

“Of course you are,” Jonathan muttered. “The next time the Bat captures you, and I must conduct an elaborate heist to save you, _once again_ , I’ll remind you of this.”

Edward cracked one eye open and looked at Jonathan, smiling. “What makes you think you won’t be right there beside me in the cell?”

“The fact that I have common sense.”

“Mmh,” Edward hummed, noncommitedly, and closed his eyes again. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Jonathan.”

Jonathan’s fingers disappeared. Edward heard the creaking of the floor as he walked back to his seat and sat down.

“It’s fear,” Jonathan said.

Edward blinked his eyes open. “Or love.”

Jonathan met his gaze, and gave him a rare smile, free of cruelty or sarcasm. “Perhaps they’re synonymous, after all.”

“I’ll inform the publishing companies,” Edward said. “Clearly, this calls for a change in the dictionary definition.”

Jonathan rolled his eyes, and fixed his glasses. “Do shut up.”

Edward lifted a challenging brow. “Make me, crow.”

There was a moment, a split second, where Edward thought Jonathan might rise to his bait – a gleam in his eyes, the slightest twitch of a finger. But then the moment was gone, and Jonathan stood up, instead.

“I’ll put the kettle on,” he said. “Try to manage for five minutes without me, if such a thing is possible.”

Edward picked up his crossword and pen, lifting his feet on the table. Screw the new polishing. “I’ll do my best. Try not to slip anything into my cup.”

“No promises,” Jonathan said, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Edward smiled to himself, scribbling _love_ down on the crossword.


End file.
